Disclaimer: I don't wish I had Jesse's girl. I don't care where one might
find a woman like that, and the guy in that song is a really bad friend if
you ask me.
When the Rhumba Rhythm Starts to Play
Snape sneaked a look at Hermione over the top of the book he was reading. She seemed so calm, so composed, even though their little... argument? Understanding?... had occurred only two hours ago. There again, it had been she who was the composed one throughout this whole fiasco.
He sighed inwardly and returned his gaze to the book. When he had first been a child at Hogwarts, he had often used large books to hide behind in uncomfortable situations (which then had occurred every day). This was the first time in adulthood that he had felt the need to use such a method, but to his mind, the woman sitting across from him was equally as terrifying as the Dark Lord. At least Voldemort was consistent, madman that he was - you always knew the curse would follow the pat on the back. He didn't throw logic at you to make you voice your own feelings and then leave you to stew on it.
The question was, what to do now? Hermione had admirably let him argue himself into a corner, but then had performed the very unGryffindor- like feat of leaving it alone. Pleasing as it was to see her turning away from the paths of Gryffs, it had left the next move up to him. Damn it.
Shifting in his chair, Snape peered around the edge of his book to see that the object of his frustrations was happily perusing a book on obscure potions ingredients. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration, a sure sign that she had found something in the book that her insatiable curiosity had not uncovered before, and her lips were slightly pursed. It was strange, he thought, that lips that were so annoying when flapping about looked like the sweetest of delicacies when pouting. And that cute little nose of hers...
Snape ducked back behind his book, disgusted with himself. Things were desperate if he was applying the word 'cute' in a positive way. Obviously, something had to be done. But what? And when?
A seduction was in order, he supposed. They had never discussed what Hermione expected from a romantic entanglement, and he was frankly buggered if he had the faintest idea what she wanted. He supposed he could ask Minerva, but that would be the equivalent of standing on top of the breakfast table and shouting, 'I want to have sex with Hermione Granger!'
Though she presented a practical front to the world, Snape suspected Hermione was a romantic. Quite probably a romantic, candlelit dinner was her heart's desire. Snape was surprised to find that he did not begrudge her that small concession; although he considered such a thing cliched and trite, the thought of undressing Hermione by candlelight was not an unpleasant one. He, Severus Snape, could lower himself for her pleasure.
He frowned. Of course, it would probably be better to use his greater years and experience to develop a more sophisticated scheme. Perhaps she was expecting that. Snape frowned. After all, she had been surrounded by Gryffindor types her whole life and had never gone for any of them. The old- fashioned romantic approach was probably not what she desired - she *had* chosen the head of Slytherin for a lover. Maybe she wanted something more... Slytherinish. An image of silken ropes and blindfolds flashed through his mind, but remembering the object of his thoughts was sitting not more than a metre away he pushed it aside. With a cough, he stood and began to pace.
Perhaps not blindfolds, then. Best not to try to run before the two of them tested out a leisurely stroll - he was several years older than her, after all. Seduction by dining was certainly a possibility; Hermione enjoyed food, he knew from surreptitious watchings at the dinner table.
A movement caught his eye, and as he turned his head he saw Hermione swiftly return her gaze to her reading. All would have appeared innocent if there hadn't been the slightest smirk playing about her lips. Snape's eyes narrowed. Apparently the maiden had detected his difficulties, and found them amusing. Perhaps it was time for a more direct, ballistic approach then.
Snape strode over to the chair where Hermione sat and crossed his arms. He considered his options. He didn't relish the idea of attacking her in her chair, but there seemed few ways to get her to naturally stand up. An idea began to form in his mind, and he smiled evilly. He did have to get even with her for this afternoon after all. It took a few moments of his looming over her before she looked up.
'Yes, Severus?' she said. Snape raised an eyebrow and nodded to himself. Well, at least he had verbal agreement.
'Miss Granger, get up,' he commanded in his most threatening teacherly tones. He almost felt guilty at the flash of student-like fear that went through her expression before she stood, but the guilt was well and truly drowned out by self-satisfaction. She may not have been his student for a while, but he still had it.
Trampling over the worry that particular thought caused, Snape leant down and caught Hermione's surprised face in his hand before claiming her lips with his own.
Ah, so this was what he had been pining for all these weeks. He was glad to find out what that burning, wanting sensation in his stomach had been all this time. Strange, only a few kisses had passed between them and yet he knew her taste so well. She sighed, allowing further access to her mouth, a happy coincidence for him. Hmm, odd that something that looked so repulsive when done by corner-lurking teenagers could be so pleasurable. Perhaps if he tried twisting like *this*...
Well, that was certainly a pleasurable experience, Snape thought, as soon as the stars cleared from his vision. Hermione appeared to have her eyes closed, and he tested that out. Much better. He immersed himself in the feeling of her clothes against his hands, the warmth of the body under those clothes. In the darkness behind his eyes, his only anchor to the world became her lips, her mouth warmly welcoming him and her hands grasping his shoulders to keep him from floating away. If only he could do this for a lifetime or two he would be a happy man.
This all ended abruptly, or so it seemed, as she pulled her mouth away and let go of his shoulders. By the time Snape was conscious enough to open his eyes she was already a disappearing figure behind the bedroom door, and it took him a few seconds after that to realise his hands were still raised to grasp her and drop them.
He frowned. This had seemed to be going so well. Hermione certainly hadn't seemed to dislike the way he was kissing her. So why had she suddenly run behind the bedroom door? She had this penchant for running away, drat the woman. A word was niggling at his brain. Bedroom. Bedroom door. The frown on his brow deepened. Why on earth would she suddenly disappear into the bedroom in the middle of a perfectly good...
Ah. Snape walked toward the doorway and peered around, to see a timid- looking Hermione standing uncertainly beside the bed. The small smile on her face grew a little wider as he walked in the door.
When the Rhumba Rhythm Starts to Play
Snape sneaked a look at Hermione over the top of the book he was reading. She seemed so calm, so composed, even though their little... argument? Understanding?... had occurred only two hours ago. There again, it had been she who was the composed one throughout this whole fiasco.
He sighed inwardly and returned his gaze to the book. When he had first been a child at Hogwarts, he had often used large books to hide behind in uncomfortable situations (which then had occurred every day). This was the first time in adulthood that he had felt the need to use such a method, but to his mind, the woman sitting across from him was equally as terrifying as the Dark Lord. At least Voldemort was consistent, madman that he was - you always knew the curse would follow the pat on the back. He didn't throw logic at you to make you voice your own feelings and then leave you to stew on it.
The question was, what to do now? Hermione had admirably let him argue himself into a corner, but then had performed the very unGryffindor- like feat of leaving it alone. Pleasing as it was to see her turning away from the paths of Gryffs, it had left the next move up to him. Damn it.
Shifting in his chair, Snape peered around the edge of his book to see that the object of his frustrations was happily perusing a book on obscure potions ingredients. Her eyes were narrowed in concentration, a sure sign that she had found something in the book that her insatiable curiosity had not uncovered before, and her lips were slightly pursed. It was strange, he thought, that lips that were so annoying when flapping about looked like the sweetest of delicacies when pouting. And that cute little nose of hers...
Snape ducked back behind his book, disgusted with himself. Things were desperate if he was applying the word 'cute' in a positive way. Obviously, something had to be done. But what? And when?
A seduction was in order, he supposed. They had never discussed what Hermione expected from a romantic entanglement, and he was frankly buggered if he had the faintest idea what she wanted. He supposed he could ask Minerva, but that would be the equivalent of standing on top of the breakfast table and shouting, 'I want to have sex with Hermione Granger!'
Though she presented a practical front to the world, Snape suspected Hermione was a romantic. Quite probably a romantic, candlelit dinner was her heart's desire. Snape was surprised to find that he did not begrudge her that small concession; although he considered such a thing cliched and trite, the thought of undressing Hermione by candlelight was not an unpleasant one. He, Severus Snape, could lower himself for her pleasure.
He frowned. Of course, it would probably be better to use his greater years and experience to develop a more sophisticated scheme. Perhaps she was expecting that. Snape frowned. After all, she had been surrounded by Gryffindor types her whole life and had never gone for any of them. The old- fashioned romantic approach was probably not what she desired - she *had* chosen the head of Slytherin for a lover. Maybe she wanted something more... Slytherinish. An image of silken ropes and blindfolds flashed through his mind, but remembering the object of his thoughts was sitting not more than a metre away he pushed it aside. With a cough, he stood and began to pace.
Perhaps not blindfolds, then. Best not to try to run before the two of them tested out a leisurely stroll - he was several years older than her, after all. Seduction by dining was certainly a possibility; Hermione enjoyed food, he knew from surreptitious watchings at the dinner table.
A movement caught his eye, and as he turned his head he saw Hermione swiftly return her gaze to her reading. All would have appeared innocent if there hadn't been the slightest smirk playing about her lips. Snape's eyes narrowed. Apparently the maiden had detected his difficulties, and found them amusing. Perhaps it was time for a more direct, ballistic approach then.
Snape strode over to the chair where Hermione sat and crossed his arms. He considered his options. He didn't relish the idea of attacking her in her chair, but there seemed few ways to get her to naturally stand up. An idea began to form in his mind, and he smiled evilly. He did have to get even with her for this afternoon after all. It took a few moments of his looming over her before she looked up.
'Yes, Severus?' she said. Snape raised an eyebrow and nodded to himself. Well, at least he had verbal agreement.
'Miss Granger, get up,' he commanded in his most threatening teacherly tones. He almost felt guilty at the flash of student-like fear that went through her expression before she stood, but the guilt was well and truly drowned out by self-satisfaction. She may not have been his student for a while, but he still had it.
Trampling over the worry that particular thought caused, Snape leant down and caught Hermione's surprised face in his hand before claiming her lips with his own.
Ah, so this was what he had been pining for all these weeks. He was glad to find out what that burning, wanting sensation in his stomach had been all this time. Strange, only a few kisses had passed between them and yet he knew her taste so well. She sighed, allowing further access to her mouth, a happy coincidence for him. Hmm, odd that something that looked so repulsive when done by corner-lurking teenagers could be so pleasurable. Perhaps if he tried twisting like *this*...
Well, that was certainly a pleasurable experience, Snape thought, as soon as the stars cleared from his vision. Hermione appeared to have her eyes closed, and he tested that out. Much better. He immersed himself in the feeling of her clothes against his hands, the warmth of the body under those clothes. In the darkness behind his eyes, his only anchor to the world became her lips, her mouth warmly welcoming him and her hands grasping his shoulders to keep him from floating away. If only he could do this for a lifetime or two he would be a happy man.
This all ended abruptly, or so it seemed, as she pulled her mouth away and let go of his shoulders. By the time Snape was conscious enough to open his eyes she was already a disappearing figure behind the bedroom door, and it took him a few seconds after that to realise his hands were still raised to grasp her and drop them.
He frowned. This had seemed to be going so well. Hermione certainly hadn't seemed to dislike the way he was kissing her. So why had she suddenly run behind the bedroom door? She had this penchant for running away, drat the woman. A word was niggling at his brain. Bedroom. Bedroom door. The frown on his brow deepened. Why on earth would she suddenly disappear into the bedroom in the middle of a perfectly good...
Ah. Snape walked toward the doorway and peered around, to see a timid- looking Hermione standing uncertainly beside the bed. The small smile on her face grew a little wider as he walked in the door.